


Manifesto

by ignipes



Category: Panic At The Disco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-22
Updated: 2008-03-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:17:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignipes/pseuds/ignipes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's never a good idea to believe everything you read on the internet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Manifesto

"Did you guys know we're all having sex with each other?"

Spencer stops just inside the door. "What, right now?"

Jon is lying on one of the beds with his laptop open in front of him. "All the time, apparently. We're sex fiends."

Ryan shoves past Spencer and collapses on the nearest bed, not even glancing up from his phone. "You shouldn't believe everything you read on the internet, Jon."

That's Ryan's first and most vehement statement every time he finds himself within ten feet of an internet connection, ever since Pete sent them all a badly-Photoshopped picture of Ryan, Gabe Saporta, and an elaborate contraption made of leather and chains. ("Please, please, stop him," Spencer had begged, and Patrick had replied, "Okay, I'll uninstall Photoshop from his computer, but I think he'll notice.")

"I don't know," Jon says. "This is pretty convincing. There's photographic evidence and YouTube clips and everything."

Ryan finally looks up from his texting marathon--he's been going at it for about three hours, seriously, Spencer's amazed his fingers haven't cramped up--and stares at Jon. "You think it's convincing?"

"Jon also thought 'Charlie the Unicorn Goes to Candy Mountain' was convincing," Spencer reminds him. "I thought we agreed not to let Jon be our filter of truth for things found online anymore."

Jon shrugs, completely unconcerned. "You never know."

"Actually, I think if anyone would know, it would be us." Ryan snaps his phone shut and rolls over. He's trying to look smooth, Spencer can just tell, but Ryan's Unfortunate Awkward Stage is probably going to last until he's forty or fifty at least, so he ends up falling off the edge of the bed and tumbling to the floor. "Ouch. Let me see that." He kneels beside Jon's bed and turns the laptop so he can see the screen. "Hmmm."

Spencer doesn't like the sound of that, but he pretends to ignore them, lies down on the bed Ryan has vacated, and thinks about what he wants for dinner. Pizza or Chinese, Chinese or pizza. He has vague memories of a life in which there were other meal options, but recently he's started to believe it was all a dream.

"That's not fair," Ryan says.

Spencer turns to look. "What isn't?"

"Why does everybody always call Jon the most beautiful man in the band?" Ryan sounds a little bit insulted.

"Because it's true," Jon says.

But Spencer frowns. "They don't, usually. No offense, Jon."

"I am deeply offended."

"Well," Ryan huffs, "maybe they don't usually, but Brendon does, and so does this."

Spencer sits up, still frowning, as Jon reaches for the laptop. "Who wrote that?" Spencer asks.

"," Jon says. "Friend of yours?"

"It's my secret superhero identity," Spencer says, offering a silent prayer of thanks to the internet gods that nobody's ever given _him_ a stupid nickname easily incorporated into online usernames. But there's a sinking feeling in his stomach. "Let me see."

"No." Ryan shoves Jon aside. "I'm reading. Jon, is your choice of footwear really a reliable indicator of your emotional state?"

"My footwear? But that's--dude, let me see it." Jon shoves Ryan back. "Move your face."

"Move _your_ face." Ryan bats Jon's hands away. Ryan is frowning at the screen with the same face he uses when Hobo tries to eat somebody's shoes or furniture or limbs. "They also say that Spencer is the Tacky Glue that keeps our lives together. And that's just..."

"Weird," Jon finishes. "That's just weird."

"It's weird and it's not on YouTube anywhere." The sinking feeling is, well, more sinking now. Not quite _Titanic_ yet, but it's getting there. Spencer remembers the Tacky Glue conversation extremely well, and he knows nobody besides the band was present at the time. "But it's not like... I mean, somebody else could come up with that."

"A Tacky Glue metaphor?" Ryan looks skeptical.

Jon adds, "And a theory of emotional footwear?"

"It's possible," Spencer insists. He also kind of wants to know why he has to be Tacky Glue, because he would much rather be something cooler. Something manlier. "Why can't I be something less likely to be used for scrapbooking and making dollhouses?"

Ryan hitches his shoulders defensively. "There's nothing wrong with scrapbooking."

Spencer doesn't want to be forced to look at nine thousand pictures of Hobo again, or listen to the new and improved version of Ryan's Earnest Tirade In Defense of Funny-Shape-Cutting Scissors, so he only says, "Cement, maybe?" He's always been fond of cement. It's solid and hard and scrapes people's knees without a shred of remorse. "I would rather be cement than Tacky Glue. Cement holds shit together, and it's, you know, tough. Or joint compound, like they use for sealing cracks in home improvements."

"Everything you know about home improvements you learned from HGTV," Ryan points out, "and you don't even learn very well. Remember that time you tried to fix your toilet?"

Spencer remembers. It was kind of awesome, but more in a "wanton, senseless destruction with a hammer" way than a "Mr. Fix-It Fixes It" way. He never knew demolishing bathroom fixtures could be so cathartic.

"You could be spackle," Jon says.

"You don't even know what spackle is," Spencer mumbles. He knows what spackle is; he learned all about it while watching _Save My Bath_.

"Or grout," Jon says. "Or is that a foot disease?"

"Elmer's glue," Ryan declares, beaming at Spencer with unmistakable pride. "You're Elmer's glue. The Elmer's glue that holds together the multi-colored construction paper of our lives."

Jon nods in agreement. "Sticky, white, water soluble and edible. That's our Spencer."

Spencer stares at him. Jon doesn't even crack a smile.

"Shut up." Spencer narrows his eyes and tries to pretend he's not blushing.

But Ryan is already laughing. "Yeah, that's our Spencer."

"Like you would know," Spencer snaps.

Ryan rolls his eyes. "Dude, I shared a bed with you when you were fifteen."

There's no hiding the fact that Spencer is bright red now. He remembers, _god_ , but that doesn't mean he wants the whole world to know, and he's going to kill Ryan, which will be very sad but obviously must be done. Jon, too, because he's an evil poker-faced accomplice. Then Spencer will be left all alone in the world with Brendon, and he'll have to learn to play guitar--and probably the ukulele and banjo and harmonica too--just so Brendon won't have to do everything himself. Brendon needs his sleep.

"How come you never have fun sleepovers like that anymore?" Jon asks.

Spencer starts to flip him off, but he stops when he sees the look on Jon's face. Jon looks-- Well. Jon looks interested.

Because, Spencer quickly reminds himself, Jon is a pervert. He's got the sweet, charming aw-shucks-boy-next-door routine down to an art, but in reality he's a dirty old man trapped in a hot young guy's body. Spencer suspects there's also a crazy cat lady trapped in there, so it must be kind of crowded, but the point is: dirty old man.

"Why?" Ryan asks. If Spencer hadn't know him most of his life, he might be fooled by Ryan's feigned, wide-eyed innocence. "Do you want to be invited?"

Jon rubs his chin and pretends to consider the question. "Depends. Will there be pillow fights?"

"It's possible," Ryan says. "Once we had a pillow fight that turned into a pool fight."

"My mom still reminds me about her ruined pillows every time she makes a bed," Spencer mutters. His mom doesn't even care that it was all Ryan's fault three pillows, two blankets, and an entire sheet set ended up in the pool, because his mom loves Ryan more than she loves her own firstborn son. She always gives Ryan the soft, gooey chocolate-chip cookies and makes Spencer eat the crunchy, overcooked ones.

"A pool fight?" Jon appears to be pondering the idea. "That sounds fun, kind of like a wet t-shirt contest without the drunk sorority girls. Were you naked?"

"No," Spencer snaps.

"Yes," Ryan says.

"What?" Spencer hopes his voice doesn't sound as squeaky outside his head as it does inside. "No we weren't!"

"You know," Jon says, twisting the laptop so he can point at the screen, "it says here in this 'Manifesto of Mad, Mad Love'"--he makes air-quotes for emphasis and somehow manages not to look like a tool doing it, because he's Jon Walker--"that the two of you used to practice kissing because you didn't know how and couldn't find any girls who were willing."

Spencer is so stunned he can't say anything, much less think of a snappy response, but he's startled out of his shock by the solid _thwack_ of a pillow to the face.

He bats the pillow away and glares at Ryan, who is staring at him with an expression that can only be described as horrified.

"What?" Spencer says again. He's still squeaking, but there are more important things to worry about. "I never told anyone!"

"You mean, until right now." Jon grins like it's Christmas morning. "That is so fucking awesome. Were you really, really bad at first? Like, slobbery and everything?"

"Shut up. I sure as fuck never told any..." Ryan's voice trails off. His eyes are so wide it looks like he's trying to pop them out, like they used to try to do by keeping their eyes open while sneezing. When they were kids. Before they traded in eyeball-related gross-outs for skateboarding and music and Backstreet Boys dance moves and homemade bombs and kissing practice.

"That little fucker," Ryan says quietly.

"You _told_ someone?" Spencer splutters. "We swore a blood oath!"

"I didn't mean--" Ryan is staring into space, his eyes unfocused. It's the same look he gets right before he says something like, "But guys, I really like the mandolin," or "How do you feel about mimes?"

Jon looks curious. "Did you use real blood?"

"Of course we did," Spencer snaps. Blood oaths are very serious business. At least, he thought they were. Apparently his asshole best friend disagrees. "Because, you know, it was just a _blood oath_ \--"

"About kissing," Jon puts in, nodding eagerly.

"--but it's okay, if Ryan didn't _mean_ \--"

"I was trying to be helpful!" Ryan says, his gaze suddenly snapping back to Spencer. "He was feeling all insecure and embarrassed and I..."

Into the silence that follows, Spencer manages a weak, "He?"

"Say," Jon says, looking around with exaggerated curiosity, "where is Brendon, anyway? He's been gone for over an hour."

Ryan holds out his hand imperiously. "Give me the computer."

Jon hands it over without question.

" is answering comments on this thing." Ryan hunches his shoulders and bites his lip, and his skinny-ass fingers race over the keys.

Spencer and Jon both lean close to see what he's typing:

 _i hate stoopid wannabe emo boys in eyeliner.wut a bunch of pussy fags. speshully the drummr he look liek a cocksucking girl lol the other duds are jus ugly._

Jons nods approvingly. "It's nice to see you haven't forgotten the vernacular of your internet stalking youth."

"Why do I always have to be the girl?" Spencer mutters. Really, he thinks they ought to have put that long behind them. It's not like he grew a beard for his _health_.

Ryan twists around to look at him. "Because if that is Brendon, he's more likely to leap to your defense than to ours, or his own."

Spencer blinks. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Yes, it does." Jon pats his shoulder. "Trust us on this one, young lady."

Spencer sticks his tongue out--okay, maybe not the most mature response in the world, but it makes Jon laugh, and making Jon laugh is always a good thing.

Ryan spends the next five minutes refreshing the page compulsively while Spencer pretends not to watch. When a reply appears, Ryan lets out a triumphant, "Ha!" and Jon grabs for the computer, saying, "Lemme see, lemme see, lemme _see_."

Ryan holds the laptop out of reach--and yes, Spencer has to admit that's always funny, because Jon is really short--and says, "No. This is too important to let it fall into your emoticon-loving hands."

Jon stops grabbing at the laptop and frowns in confusion. "My what?"

Ryan doesn't answer, just begins to type again, shooting quick, amused glances over the screen. In his suede vest and headband he looks a little bit like what would happen if an extra from an all-gay production of _Oklahoma!_ decided to trade in the wind sweeping down the plains for nefarious plots of world domination.

"Ryan won't let me type," Jon says, somewhat unnecessarily, as Ryan has a slightly maniacal look about him, and Spencer thinks he will probably bite anyone who tries to type. "I want to read what Brendon said."

"We don't even know it's Brendon," Spencer says. It's a weak argument, but it seems like an important point to keep in mind. If Ryan is gleefully exchanging internet insults with an over-imaginative thirteen-year-old fangirl in Duluth, they're all going to feel a little bit stupid.

"That doesn't explain why he won't let me type," Jon says, glaring at Ryan ineffectively. On a good day Jon glares about as well as the average baby panda.

There's another quick glance over the top of the screen. "I don't trust you," Ryan says.

"To do what, use appropriately bad spelling and grammar?"

"Not to use smiley faces as punctuation for every single sentence."

Jon laughs. "I don't do that."

"Yes, you do," Ryan says.

"I do not."

"Yes, you do," Spencer says. "You send the smiliest emails in the entire world, even when it's entirely inappropriate."

"I do not!" Jon insists, but he looks a little shifty.

"Do too," Spencer says. "They're like the emails that would happen if the computer mainframe at Disney World spontaneously developed an artificial intelligence and began aggressively forcing its cheer and good will toward men on every networked computer system across the globe."

"I do _not_ ," Jon insists. He crosses his arms stubbornly over his chest. "And wow, way to make smiley faces sound really creepy, Spence."

"They are creepy."

" _You're_ creepy."

"Your mom is creepy."

"There." Ryan hits a key, every skinny, neckerchiefed inch of him exuding an air of smug satisfaction. "Don't worry, Spencer. I'm taking care of it."

Until this moment, Spencer hasn't been very worried at all. "What did you do?"

Ryan gestures vaguely. "It's not like we can just sit around and let somebody besmirch your good name on the internet."

"Brendon is besmirching my good name on the internet?" Spencer is a little bit surprised by that.

"Well, no," Ryan says. "I am, but only so he can defend you." He refreshes the page, and his face lights up as he starts typing furiously again.

Jon gives up trying to watch and moves to sit beside Spencer on the other bed.

"I don't trust him," Spencer says. Ryan has progressed from shifty looks to outright cackling, and Spencer hasn't seen him this excited about something on the internet since he discovered the website that sold custom-made top hats for dogs.

Jon makes a noise of agreement. "Did you only practice kissing, or did you practice other things too?"

Spencer stares at him. Suddenly Jon's polite enthusiasm every time Spencer's mom brings out the old photo albums is taking on a new and highly disturbing dimension. "I'm not answering that," he says.

"C'mon, why not?" Jon goes for big, pleading eyes. He's pretty good at it. "It's not like we're not having group orgies all the time already."

"I wish I could remember these orgies," Spencer says with a sigh.

"They were awesome," Jon assures him. "You like to top."

"He really does," Ryan says.

"Oh, my god," Spencer says. "Shut up." He not even sure if he's embarrassed anymore, or just annoyed that Ryan and Jon and Brendon and the entire internet keep talking about all this really exciting sex he's not having, but in any case, "Please, shut up."

"So, it wasn't just kissing," Jon says, nodding.

"Blowjobs too," Ryan says. He's not typing anymore.

Spencer closes his eyes and hits his head against the headboard three times. "No, really, shut--"

The door bursts open, and Brendon sweeps into the room like a tiny, wiry whirlwind of fury.

"I'll have you know, Ryan Ross," Brendon says in a ringing voice, "I have _never_ ruined anybody's _coffee table_ in my _entire life_!"

Ryan cracks up immediately, slams the laptop shut and doubles over with laughter. Brendon stands over him with his hands on his hips, and it only takes about ten seconds before his lips start twitching.

"This isn't funny," Brendon says.

Ryan struggles to get himself under control. "Yes, it is."

"Is not."

"It really is," Jon says.

Brendon points at Ryan dramatically. "He was besmirching Spencer's good name on the internet!"

"Spencer doesn't have a good name," Ryan says, still gasping.

"Did he say anything about teenage blowjobs?" Jon asks hopefully.

Spencer punches Jon in the arm and says as calmly as possible, "Thank you for defending my honor, Brendon."

Brendon nods. "You're welcome."

"I don't suppose you want to tell us why you're telling the entire internet that we have group orgies all the time, do you?"

"Um." Brendon shifts his weight uncomfortably.

Spencer waits. Jon and Ryan are wide-eyed and attentive.

"It was," Brendon says. He bites his lower lip, and Spencer stares and tries not to think about how much he would like to be the one doing the biting. Brendon glances up and meets his eyes, and Spencer looks away quickly. "It was just--you know. A joke?"

"I think it's a good idea," Jon says.

"Posting about ourselves using LiveJournal sockpuppets?" Ryan asks. He looks mildly interested, or maybe like he's hoping they won't ask him what journal names he's already using.

Jon shakes his head. "No. Group sex."

"What, right now?" Spencer asks. The words just slip out without his permission, and he gets a surreal feeling that this conversation has come full circle.

"I'm kind of hungry," Ryan says, "so maybe we can get dinner first. I don't want pizza again. I'm sick of pizza."

"I'm sick of pizza too," Jon agrees. "We should've gotten a room with a king-sized bed, because I think this will be a little tight--heh, I mean, the bed--but it'll probably work."

"We'll have to make it work. I fucking hate getting carpet burn on my back. Oooh, Thai." Ryan rolls over and reaches for the phonebook on the nightstand. "Do you think there's a Thai restaurant that delivers around here?"

"Or Indian," Jon says. "Indian would be good. How did you get carpet burn on your back?"

"I'll show you later, except not on the floor, on the bed. I don't like lentils."

Brendon walks over to Spencer's side of the bed and sits down slowly. "Are they talking about--"

"Southeast Asian cuisine," Spencer says, "and their favorite sex positions."

"Okay. That's what I thought." Brendon looks relieved that he hasn't gotten the two confused. "Um, are they--"

"Serious? I have no idea."

"Okay. Just, you know. Checking." Brendon's biting his lip again, and Spencer is staring again, at least until Brendon shoulders start to shake and he snorts with laughter. "Just checking," he says, letting a laugh escape and falling forward to press his face into Spencer's neck, and that's all it takes for Spencer to start laughing too. "Just _in case_."

"It's always good to be prepared," Spencer says and, god, he's giggling like an idiot, but he can't help it. "Like Boy Scouts."

"I don't think they let Boy Scouts have orgies," Brendon says.

"Sucks for them."

"Or doesn't, really."

Jon pokes Spencer's arm, interrupting a new round of uncontrollable laughter. "Are you guys going to start making out soon?"

Spencer wonders how he's known Jon for so long without noticing his penchant for wildly enthusiastic voyeurism. "That depends." What he means is, "God, yes, I hope so," but he doesn't want to give in that easily. "Are you ordering dinner for us?"

"Dialing right now," Ryan says, holding up his phone illustratively. "I'm not ordering anything with lentils in it. Carry on. I think Jon wants to watch."

"We don't even know how to have group sex," Spencer says. He shifts over a little, giving Brendon more room to sprawl alongside him. "Somebody's going to get hurt."

"Don't worry," Brendon says. He still grinning against Spencer's neck, his breath hot when he speaks. "I read all about it on the internet."


End file.
